


On the Front Lines of Sanity

by a_little_chai



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Coda, Drabble, Episode Tag, Episode: s06e18 Lauren, Episode: s07e02 Proof, Gen, Hurt Spencer Reid, I blame Spencer for that, I seem to like those, Reality Bending, References to Drugs, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer is not dealing with Emily's death, Stream of Consciousness, Ten Weeks, Unfortunately this is the second thing in this Fandom I have written with a calculator in my hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_little_chai/pseuds/a_little_chai
Summary: For ten weeks, he came to JJ's house.What happened after ten weeks? How did Reid pick himself up after Emily's death? Just how did he resist the urge to use again?Episode tag to 7.02 Proof
Relationships: Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	On the Front Lines of Sanity

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy another little drabble. Also, all formatting was done one purpose. 
> 
> As always, warnings in end notes.

__

_There was a fine line, between reality and imagination. That line is defended by an army, a powerful army: Sanity. It fights the demons of nightmares with sword and shield, protecting the precious reality that lay beyond._

_But sometimes, the imagination grows stronger. Its monsters grow teeth and claws, and suddenly Sanity is overwhelmed. And suddenly, that line seems just a little bit finer, and the army of the mind just a little bit weaker._

________________

Clench. 

Unclench. 

Clench. 

Unclench. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Tap, tap. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap. 

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap-

Stop. 

He can't do this. Not here, not now. Not on JJ's couch when Henry is upstairs sleeping and he is their guest. He can't do this now. 

But it's been ten weeks. Ten weeks, seventy days. Six million forty eight thousand seconds. Well, Six million forty seven thousand nine hundred and eighty eight seconds. 

There's still two minutes left. 

He has two minutes left, minutes of waiting, wondering. What will life be like in two minutes? What will happen?

Because in two minutes, it will have been ten weeks since Emily... Since Emily... 

Ten weeks of this. Ten weeks sleeping on this couch, because his own apartment reminded him too much of her. Of the games of chess she'd played with him by the window, the late nights spent working on cases that were bothering them. 

She liked the lamp he has in his living room, the color of the bookshelves. She absolutely hated the green walls. She offered to paint it. He never took her up on that. 

He should have. She was probably a great painter. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

JJ likes material things. Fuzzy blankets, furry pillows. Things that are easy to hug and hold onto and never, ever let go. They adorn the couch. He can imagine the hours she's spent here, after a long case. When everyone's gone to bed, holding that pillow close to her chest is the most comfort she can find. 

He grabs it now, and wills it to keep his hands steady. 

JJ is one of the most caring people he knows. She saw him, with under eye circles growing darker and the number of cups of coffee growing ever larger. She offered him her couch. And, more than that, she offered him a shoulder to lean on. 

It's hot. Much, much too hot, all the sudden. He can't help but move his hand up to loosen his collar.

And then he checked the time once more. 

Only fifty three seconds left. 

The little hand clicked, clicked, clicked. Counting down the seconds until something was going to happen. Because something must happen. 

Emily can't really be.... 

Ten weeks. 

God, his shirt was itchy. It scratched and prodded so uncomfortably. He wanted to take it off, take it all off. Then he wouldn't have to deal with this infernal itching. 

He looked down. Saw his fingers, curled and poised, in the crook of his elbow. 

Ah. 

That made sense. 

The tremors, the hot flashes, the hypersensitivity. Those were a daily occurrence of his. Had been for the past sixty nine days, twenty three hours and-

But the counting. Watching the clock. The feeling of something crawling at the edge of his mind, trailing large claws across some wall. Paranoia. 

Cravings. 

And once that word filtered through his brain, moved like sludge through the perfectly polished gears of his mind, it all stopped. 

It all became one perfect thought. 

There's a way out. 

He wasn't stuck here. He wasn't trapped in this house of love and comfort, he wasn't forced to see Emily's picture every day in the hallway, another tribute to another fallen agent. He wasn't trapped inside a slowly decaying body and a more quickly dying mind. 

He wasn't stuck. 

There were bottles at home. Hidden in some crevice of the wall that he was certain no one would find unless they used a sledgehammer. A tourniquet and syringes in his first aid kit. 

It could all be over. It could all be over. 

After years of fighting this, he understood the way his addict's mind played tricks on him. He knew how to fight. But, in many ways, he just didn't want to. 

He didn't have anything left to fight for. A job and home and life tainted by the loss of a friend. The constant battle. The constant fear. 

Two seconds. Two measly little seconds. 

Two. 

One. 

Zero. 

He watched, mesmerized, as time seemed to slow down. As the hands of his watch ceased moving. 

And he saw Emily. He saw the long black hair and short cut bangs. He saw her, smiling in the plane as Morgan told some lame joke. He saw her, tongue pressed firmly between her lips as she concentrated on her next move during a game of chess. He saw her, looking straight ahead sternly in the photo in the hallway. 

His hands stopped scratching. His mind stopped doing pirouettes inside his skull. And, somehow, he _felt_ her. Not some ghost. Not some phantasm. 

_Her._

The pillow fell to the floor. Eyes gently started to shut as the weight of ten weeks of worrying finally fell on him. Sleep was welcome but unavoidable. 

But it didn't matter. Because everything was going to be okay now. 

That's what Emily was trying to tell him. 

Everything will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Referenced drug use  
> Depression
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, consider hitting the kudos button or dropping a comment!
> 
> ~You are loved, and never alone. We are here for you, and you are enough.~


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